


Hermione Granger and the Yuletide Surprise

by Washedawaycloud



Series: Harry Potter and the Return to Civilization [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Harmony - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 15:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17103197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Washedawaycloud/pseuds/Washedawaycloud
Summary: Hermione just wanted some lunch with her dearest friend. Harry has a different agenda.





	Hermione Granger and the Yuletide Surprise

Christmas after the war came and went with a somber air and little fanfare. It wasn't until the next year when lives settled, and the rebuilding began, Christmas in Diagon Alley felt festive. In the seeming scant nineteen months between the worst battle of their lives and now, the Wizarding world rallied. It wasn't just rebuilding but having begun to step into the century on the way out.  
  
Hermione hides a smile in her huge and blessedly warm scarf as she briskly walks toward the Ministry, spotting a paper on the newsstand extolling numerous y2k theories, while debunking many of those the muggles railed on about. When she notes the name on the byline it gets her to pause, handing over the sickles needed to take a copy and keep on her way. A renown Muggleborn Arithmancer from the continent wrote this. It was excellent to see his work being accredited, shared, and English wizards sitting up and paying attention.  
  
She really couldn't believe the leaps and bounds British Wizarding society took of late, the Ministry renamed, Wizengamut disbanded, the positions and departments liquidated, the entire structure redone under the watchful eye of the ICW. An amusing thing, as England was left well enough on its own during the war, but the moment war cleanup was needed, the powers that be swooped in to make sure there were no power vacuums. Prudent, if more than a touch riling. She's ensconced in the article, noting Bairns references ancient computer civilizations making the century jump and surviving. Notably, the Egyptians and their particular brand of technology survived. Then again, the Egyptians did not adhere to a Gregorian calendar system. A small flaw in the argument, but still, a valid point to take into consideration.  
  
Too bad the muggles weren't quite in the know about ancient civilizations being more advanced than most thought or gave real creed to. She wonders, absently, if there was any call for a Magiarchelogist, and if it would mesh at all with her many other ambitions.  
  
"Hermione!" Her head jerks up, noting she's made it to the atrium of the Ministry without issue. A familiar blonde head of hair fills her vision and the much darker witch smiles in greeting.  
  
"Lavender, lovely to see you. How's the work suiting you?"  
  
"You ask every time you come to the alley, Hermione. I like the work, it's adequate, safe, and calm. Perfect for me and the baby." The tawny young woman pats her stomach fondly, rubbing at her prominent bump draped elegantly by her work robes.  
  
"I'll ask until the little one comes into the world. How are the Weasleys?"  
  
"Doing better. Fred is ambulatory now, he's been going his physical therapy as instructed by those lovely new healers in St. Mungos. George is happy his partner in crime is around, I think they plan to propose to Bell soon. Bill and Fleur are going mad with their baby, Ginny still won't talk to Ron, but you see her more than we do. Percy comes to dinner, bringing a charming German witch to those dinners. I believe he may pop the question to her. She keeps his feet firmly on the ground where the normal wizards reside. Ron is a bit overwhelmed at the Constable Academy but doesn't regret asking to be placed there at all. He gave me a proper ring, we set our date for this summer."  
  
It's a rush of words, but Hermione finds after six years of rooming with the other witch she can follow along. For all Lavender drove Ron spare in their sixth year, their feelings outed in the battle. Ron saved her from Greyback, she wore scars of course, but Lavender was hale and whole, and right where she was meant to be thanks to Ronald's intervention.  
  
"I'm so happy for you. I do hope I'll get an invitation to the nuptials?"  
  
"Are you daft? I want you in the wedding party!" Lavender laughs, reaching out and giving the curly-haired witch a solid shake. "Padma refuses to be paired with Harry, though she will be the co-Matron of Honor with you - if you accept. If you do, you're paired with your beau, and Padma will walk with Neville in the procession."  
  
"He isn't my beau, Lav, but he  _is_ my best friend still." Hermione's cheeks warm just the slightest touch at the notion Harry would desire her for a girlfriend. While as a young girl and young teen the notion of taming her hair was useless and refused outright to ever let a permanent straighter anywhere near it, the young witch grew up a bit. Eighteen, having learned how best to wrap her hair at night to keep the curls intact, how best to wash it to tame the frizz. How best to style it and use the untamable quality of her curls to her advantage. She was a few miles away from the end of the Second Blood Purity war, but not so far removed she could ever entertain being near physically attractive enough to catch Harry's eye.  
  
Harry, who only briefly rekindled his love affair with Ginny. Willowy, sporty Ginny. A very short-lived romance with Luna. Ethereal, wickedly clever though odd, Luna. A quick flame with Blaise Zabini, heir to a vast fortune, fashionable, mostly untouched by the horrors of the war, Blaise. She didn't begrudge Harry his romances, she didn't think she made the cut.  
  
"And Nargles infested the whole of Ottery St. Catchpole." Lavender rolls her eyes and waves Hermione on. "Make sure to sign in and relinquish your wand, love. If you're here to pull Harry from work, you'll be in for quite the trial, it's the last day of the season's Parliament session. Dowager Longbottom is no doubt in rare form this afternoon."  
  
"I like to think I rate a bit above work, but I know Dowager Longbottom is resolved to bring honor to her House. Now there is a House of Peers, and those Peers picked by the Queen after months of research -"  
  
"Yes, yes, your wand, woman. Before you set off an alarm." Lavender cuts Hermione off before she could get into lecture mode.  
  
It's with palpable reluctance Hermione hands over her wand. She knows it's a new and frankly much-needed security measure, but it still makes her itch, makes her magic itch, to give up her focus, and walk into a building heavily warded against visitor's using magic. Still, she does, hanging over a brilliant apple and acacia wood wand. The wand is dear to Hermione. Acquired during a quick visit to Russia for a period of isolated recovery following a visit to Viktor and unknown to her at the time, the gift of a consultation with Gregoire's newest wand making apprentice.  
  
"There, now the Constables won't be on us." Lavender takes the wand delicately, moving to a deceptively decorative looking case. It housed at least fifty wands, it must be an open Parliament session today. In short order, now the tawny-skinned blonde caught her friend up on the comings and goings of the Weasley family, she gets a visitor badge pinned to Hermione's jacket lapel.  
  
"Off you pop, before Dowager Longbottom gets it into her head Harry ought to accompany her for Lunch." With a smile and suggestive wink, Hermione finds herself summarily dismissed.  
  
The way to the offices of the Lords is clear. She sees not a single intern, though does spy a rather spectacular number of office workers deftly making their way about the place. The Ministry is so different now. Gone are the dark halls of mystery and questions, there are windows, charmed to show London and several other English cities, the walls are whitewashed limestone, the doors lined with protective spells, fidelity spells, fealty spells, made of strong oak wood. Truthfully, it's a beautiful place now. The feel of it is different, lighter.  
  
No doubt because the ICW sent team after team after team into England to ensure space was entirely cleansed of magical residue both dark and grey. A new start, the articles said. Less chance of corruption, the whispers told.  
  
Dowager Longbottom of House Longbottom's office is near the back of the labyrinth of hallways encasing the Parliamentary Lord's offices. Hermione can hear the elder witch's sharp voice and Neville's much mellower tones before she even makes it to their door. Her eyes flit toward the offices of the House of Black, wondering if Harry is there, or within the House of Potter. The Lordship of both fell to him, per the Queen's orders, until he could provide an heir for each house, more than one being preferred. It's doubtful he's there without the Dowager, him being her apprentice of sorts as Neville was.  
  
The conclusion kept Hermione heading for the Longbottom offices, and once there her hand settled upon the door as she said her name. The door flared deep blue - loyalty- before her name chimed within. It was opened seconds later, Neville and Harry beyond.  
  
"Hermione!" "Miss Granger." The greetings are stark in their difference, but the affection of her two friends unmistakable.  
  
"Hello boys, is Dowager Longbottom here as well?" It's only right to greet Augusta, since it is her office, and they part quickly with nods to the austere and challenging looking woman behind her desk. Hermione, brought up to be prepared for all possible instances, walks in, stopping a handful of paces from the desk and curtseying like the wizarding world always consisted of Lords and not only a system of Patriarchs and Matriarchs.  
  
"Dowager Longbottom, thank you for allowing me admittance. I'm actually here to steal Lord Potter-Black from you for the afternoon lunch recess." Her lips curl as she spies Neville's face dropping a bit. Rumors told all and sundry - the Dowager Longbottom took the training of the young Lords quite seriously.  
  
"Miss Granger, a pleasure to see you, as always. I'll be keeping you a few moments, though I do love your penchant for cutting straight to the chase. How are your studies coming?"  
  
"Hogwarts is changed, and for the better. I am enjoying the new curriculum and will be taking my O.W.Ls in Alchemy, Self-Transfiguration, and Wizarding Culture this week before the solstice. After Christmas, I'll be taking the updated O.W.L for History of Magic. I'll be on track to take my NEWTS in all my subjects by the year's end. I've been offered several different apprenticeships, I haven't yet decided which will suit me best."  
  
"You're a gift from magic itself, Miss Granger. I delight in knowing the war didn't strip us of you." There is a significant look aimed to Hermione's left and a soft groan from Neville in answer. Hermione is sure it's because Neville chose not to return to Hogwarts, with reason after the hellacious year spent under Snape and the Carrows. It's likely Dowager Longbottom does not appreciate his going into the Constable academy, however, what with the fate that befell her son and daughter-in-law.  
  
"You're much too kind, Dowager Longbottom. I want to make sure I fit into this world, it's been a bit of a trial."  
  
"One you weathered with grace, Her - eh, Miss Granger." Harry's familiarity was  _not_ approved of by Dowager Longbottom and the way he tripped over her name said as much.  
  
"Oh hush." She spares him a glance and smile before turning her attention back to the elder witch. "If I may steal Lord Potter-Black away, ma'am, I'll return him back in under an hour I should think."  
  
"Take the entirety of the recess, there is no reason not to. It will give me time with Neville. Enjoy your lunch, Miss Granger, Lord Potter-Black."  
  
"Dowager Longbottom." Hermione curtseys missing Harry inclining his head to the elder witch before they make their escape. Harry takes Hermione's hand when they're outside the door, tucking it against his forearm and leading her out in relative silence until they reach the lifts. There he relaxes a bit and Hermione grins.  
  
"So. How is it, being a Peer of the Realm and under the Dowager of Longbottom house?" Hermione is eager to know exactly how Wizarding Peerage is supposed to work, and as of yet, none of the Prophet or Quibbler journalists deign to waste space on a proper piece detailing such an aspect of their new and improved community.  
  
"It's exhausting is what it is," Harry sighs with slight exasperation. "The session was packed this morning. We're dealing with the vaults of the condemned, and everyone wants a piece of the variously extinct-by-order of her Majesty houses."  
  
His free hand lifts to tug through his unruly hair. Gone are the glasses she so associated with him, his vision corrected by healers after they found his astigmatism more or less settled. It was odd and yet improved his overall looks.  
  
"While I approve of ending the lines which were staunch supporters of Voldemort, it's annoying to see the level of greed still driving society."  
  
"We live in a capitalistic era. That won't change overnight," her remark is soft, and matter of fact. People don't change overnight, no matter how those changes may be urged.  
  
"Oh I'm aware," his straightens his back and throws his shoulders into the proper posture as the lift opens, their conversation continuing into the atrium. "I'm personally pushing for the funds to be earmarked for the orphans of the war and a foundling program to be instated. Not dissimilar to the foster care program, but with significant safeguards in place on the children. Most of the orphans are children of the extinct houses. I want them treated fairly and allowed loving homes. If we treat them poorly -"  
  
"We would be reinforcing whatever terrible things their families pounded into them. No, loving homes are needed to teach them their parents aren't necessarily correct in their teachings. That will take a rather exorbitant sum of galleons to put into place." Hermione starts a mental tabulation based upon the public numbers. There was already a fund in use at Hogwarts for students who were orphans or their families in significant need of monetary assistance. It was going to be non-existent if the government put an orphanage into place and no one as of yet made any significant donations to the fund.  
  
"Exactly. Also, the overhaul to the education curriculum is expensive, it will make the education sector operate at a deficit for a while according to the Parliamentary arithmancers. Which won't be a real issue so long as we put sustaining numbers of students in each. Home Schooling is the tradition for pre-Wand years, and we can't encourage insular behavior perpetuated going forward. We need more socialization like the non-magicals, not to mention we need to bridge the gap between societies. It's more endangering to the statute that wizards run around with little to no idea how to interact with the non-magical world than anything else."  
  
Hermione goggles at her friend as they approach Lavender's post. Of course, Hermione's visited with Harry since the beginning of the school year, but with him being under tutelage same as Neville for a whole 19 months where Hermione had been all over the place. He was transformed in a way she often didn't see when they met at the Three Broomsticks or traded letters. Here was the leader seen in him in their Fifth year. Here was a man in place of her childhood friend.  
  
"She looks like you've told her House-Elves had a seat on the Parliament. " Lavender's jovial remark makes Hermione's mouth shut with a clack, dark eyes pinning the blonde with a look compelling her to tread carefully.  
  
"Don't spoil all my news, Lav." Harry lets out a put-upon sigh and Hermione whips around to look at him.  
  
"Harry James if this is a prank -"  
  
"It's not." He stops her dead and her mind falls blank. "The House-Elves were given a seat for each clan in the House of Commons. We're pushing for representatives from the Veela, Merfolk, Vampires, Werewolves and Kobolds as well. Goblins are being approached with a new treaty allowing them seats in the Commons as well. I think the Veela and Vampires will be the easiest to convince, Werewolves will be the hardest, with the Goblins and Kobolds being our wild cards."  
  
"You're brilliant, you and whoever else is supporting and pushing for this." Her desire is to throw herself at him, not dissimilarly to her reaction to Ron ages ago, but life is different now, protocols are different. Hermione would be damned before she caused a Scandal for the house of Lords. Her wand be damned if she made the front page of the newspaper for something other than academic achievement until she was ready to deal with such.  
  
"Neville thought of the Kobolds and Goblins, Dowager Marchbanks insisted on the seats for Merfolk and Vampires, Sir Weasley on Veela and Vampire. Really, I didn't do much -."  
  
"Don't listen to him, Hermione." Lavender is grinning like a fool as she hands back Hermione's wand and Harry's moments later. "It was him who pushed the vote for the House Elves seats. He named the names of those elves who died during the war in service to the continuation of light and equal society. Now, scoot you two. It won't be long until you have to be back."  
  
Dismissed by Miss Brown, Harry is tucking Hermione's hand into his arm again, his wand secreted away to its holster much like Hermione's is. Together they leave the Ministry, Hermione in deep thought until the sun hits her face. She doesn't see or feel any magic when Harry rubs at a broach on his jacket lapel, though a bubble ward does encase them.  
  
"Mione?"  
  
"Sorry. I was - life now - it's rather insulated since the war. What with having to go get my parents and submitting them to the Mind-healing hospital in Bath and going back to Hogwarts. I didn't realize half of what would be going on, learning. I feel like we've been speaking about nothing at all every time we see each other."  
  
"Stop. It's nice to have a reprieve from duty. While it gives me purpose, it's different - fighting with words rather than my wand. It's stressful in a new way. Having a few times during the month to spend with you and talk about what you're doing is relaxing." What he doesn't say is being in Hermione's presence is relaxing. An odd revelation about a woman who is known to be quite high strung. But she's always been that way, and he's loath to change her, not one bit. Not a single thing about her. Well, nothing that would change who she is, at any rate.  
  
"I enjoyed listening to you rant about the culture that was lost in favor of "purity" and "secrecy" over the last three nearly four hundred years. It's fascinating, especially because you've been doing six years of curriculum in six months. It's actually inspired a few laws, that I have on my docket to draft up for the new year."  
  
"See!" Hermione exclaims quietly so as not to bring attention to them as they head for Horizon Drive, where the newest cafes, shops, and a truly spectacular pub had sprung up. "This is what I mean, Harry. You're talking about drafting laws. I didn't realize the extent of your training, here I am, missing so much of your adult life development while you've been sitting listen to me drone on about my  _schooling_."  
  
"For that, I apologize. I'm far too used to my every move being reported by the prophet, love." Harry keeps his voice low, knowing that as a Peer, calling his nearest and dearest of friends, love, would cause a bit of an uproar. At least in a public setting. The overhaul hadn't been solely within the Ministry. Purity laws had been struck from the books left right and center by the lawyers of the ICW. Technically speaking the Wizarding society of Britain, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland were operating under a law structure straight out of the medieval days. Sumptuary laws were in effect, not that any Constable worth his salt would draw up someone on charges in that vein. Witches were protected 10 ways from Sunday from untoward behavior, but it was a bit restrictive.  
  
 _Especially_ if you were a Wizard of the Peerage. It was madness that thankfully had been kept under hat, and was quickly being brought into the 20th, and hopefully 21st century shortly. Harry had several ideas of what he wanted to see for witches in the future. He wanted more of them in the Peerage, that was for certain, heir rights needed to be equal, the firstborn of the family able to take over the family duty when their parents found them to be trained well enough. He wanted heirs in the Parliament sessions during Summer holidays and Winter, so they knew what was going on and had exposure to it.  
  
The Queen had asserted that the Lords were to care for and keep watch over those on their lands. Lands the Crown demanded to be redistributed after having demanded a thousand years of historical records from the interim ministry. Acting Magical Prime Minister McGonagall had been all too happy to hand those records over too.  
  
"There's a lot going on behind the scenes. The world is being rearranged quietly under our feet. It's not only titles but lands, responsibilities, laws. For example, did you know, as you are not an heiress, your coat is too expensive for you to wear on the street with me unless you were my intended? That's how far back we've been blasted in an effort to eradicate blood purity sentiments. The Queen was very adamant that her subjects fall in line, and the ICW fully supports it. We've been rogue in more ways than one with our wars. Not even the United States is so close to completely flouting the statute as we have, and they have no way to enforce the bloody thing with how big their country is. Africa is the same, no one breaks the statute and yet their communities are completely blended and have been for eons. One thing imperialism didn't fuck up."  
  
"Harry James! Watch your tongue," Hermione hisses at him and Harry has to laugh. It was wonderful to have her on his arm, in his company. Now that he'd mentioned her coat, he could properly admire her without being questioned. The navy of it is lovely, pairing with her cool skin tone marvelously in his opinion. Had someone asked him about it little more than a year ago he'd have had said only that she looked utterly stunning in the coat and had no opinion otherwise? Now, however, he can see it's of excellent quality, muggle made, only Hermione's magic clinging to it, the fur around her collar and hem fake, the onyx buttons real, though not as expensive as the wool itself that makes up the garment. He can tell it's lined due to the quality and mentally applauds her choice, it would last her well into her late twenties and early thirties if not longer. Her boots are hollow wooden heeled, making a pleasant clipping sound as they walk, they would not last as long but looked smart the black under the blue.  
  
"I would if I knew my warding spell didn't also cover prying ears. Why do you think I've been lax? By rights, I should be calling you, Miss Granger, and being stiffly formal. I'm absolutely not going to do that when we're alone, and Neville knew it and bought me this for my birthday." He indicates a pin depicting the sword of Gryffindor in a blaze of phoenix fire. The red gem of the flames positively glows. "The Firestone holds the warding and privacy spells, it's brilliant."  
  
"Why do I feel we've taken a step back into the Victorian Era?" Hermione huffs, her breath coming as a puff of white air. "The way the Peerage acts it's as though we've been taken to a feudal society."  
  
"We have. I didn't mention it, because I knew you'd immediately go off the handle about it. Not to offend, but you're a little too well versed in History to allow me to flippantly let you know I was ennobled by Her Majesty, with letters patent on file with the ministry, the Queen's government and copies held in Her Majesty's vault in Gringotts and my own. I am a Royal Duke of Glouster and Marquess of Pembroke."  
  
"She didn't -"  
  
"You're correct. Her Majesty  _did not_ adopt me, nor oust her cousin from the Line of Succession. I am the  _Magical_ Royal Duke and Marquess. I am head of the Malfoys, Lestranges, Blacks, and Potters, by blood via my Paternal Grandmother, by way of Sirius' making me his heir on the sly, and the extinction of the Malfoy house and Lestrange House by order of the Crown. Her Majesty has put in me in a position to become a magical Regent should one ever be needed due to her utter lack of faith in our previous governmental structure. She rewarded me for sacrificing a happy childhood and walking willingly to my very literal death."  
  
"Harry - "  
  
"I know."  
  
"Do you?!" Hermione turns, placing her hand on his chest to get him to stop. "Harry, you're going to need a ridiculous prenuptial agreement when you deign to marry. You'll have to produce no less than four children - all male!"  
  
"No," his free hand comes to settle over Hermione's, the soft wool of her gloves warm through his leather ones. Her warming runes had always been more powerful than his warming charms. "I've specific hopes on that front. I've got a bill in the works to make hereditary titles inheritable by men and women. So long as the DNA is 50 or whatever creates a viable blood connection according to science, they can be the Duke or Marquess. Their mother would be Dowager and hold their seat until their majority and heir training complete. "  
  
The bill had Hermione in mind. Harry had had time to think with Ron and Hermione not at his side or in his orbit. Training with Dowager Longbottom was intense, she took her duty to heart, and with the help of grueling taskmasters from the Crown, he and Neville were well on the way to being proper Lords. In that grueling education, without Ginny, without Ron, with Hermione and his visits, he found himself drawn to her in new ways.  
  
New in acknowledgment at least. Hermione had always captivated Harry. She was brilliant, her mind something to behold, rather than envy. Her dedication to causes endearing, and her thirst for justice unreproachable in his eyes. She was loyal, to nearly a fault, and Harry found that inspired warmer feelings in him for her. Warmer than anything he could describe as seeing her as a sibling. What a stupid lie that had been. To himself as well as Ron.  
  
Hermione with her big caramel eyes, her wild brown hair and skin like a living painting, was never a witch any but a select and special few would be able to label sister. Harry did not number among the few. Harry viewed her as essential to his life. He hated knowing she'd visited Viktor but gloried in knowing they were only friends. Much like he gloried in the fizzling of her flirtation with Ron. He wanted Hermione at his side for the rest of his time walking this earth.  
  
It would be the biggest challenge of his life to get Hermione to court him. Something well worth his time if she didn't reject his overtures. Hermione as Duchess of Glouster?  _Hermione_ shaping the future of their world through deed and children if they were so blessed. If he was so blessed as to convince her they would be a match for the record books.  
  
"You - you want to effectively destroy the idea of male supremacy via inheritance?" Her eyes are shining, the grey of her scarf hiding her mouth from his view.  
  
"I want what's best for our world - and it isn't a Parliament full of men, it's not blood being the most important thing in our lives. There are lifetime peers, and there are elected peers as well. The Queen appointed Draco as an elected Peer, such as he is a part of my house. Dean Thomas is to be one of those in the elected peerage. Seamus, as he's Irish will be part of those counted as a lifetime Peer, Daphne Greengrass as well, Penelope Clearwater, Padma and Parvarti Patil though none of them have been informed yet. They don't require the training that the Hereditary titles do. But it's freezing out here, Hermione. Let's get to the pub and we can keep talking."  
  
He urges her to walk with him again, reluctantly relinquishing her hand. He hopes he's establishing the right information with her. He hopes she understands why he of all people can't be as free with her as he'd been in the past. He hates it, but it serves a purpose. Near two years ago he would have been apocalyptic at the notion. Two years ago, he wouldn't have been level headed about any of it and that no doubt was the influence of Riddle in him.  
  
The rest of their walk is silent but companionable. The world around them twinkles in the afternoon light, snow taking on a multitude of colors. It's a picture-perfect afternoon. Diamond in the Draft is a quiet place, warm interior, all reds, and browns, inviting. It always smelled of fresh bread and piqued the appetite o every patron that walked through its doors.  
  
"Miss Granger! Lord Potter-Black! It's so nice to see you both," Hannah Abbot is the one to greet them, the perfect hostess. After the war, it'd been a mass exodus of the sixth and seventh years who'd been at the battle of Hogwarts. With a return to a 'simpler' atmosphere, many banded together and made their own way while the rest of the world rebuilt itself.  
  
"Hello, Hannah, could we get a table in the upstairs room?" Hermione smiles winningly at the Former Hufflepuff. Harry inclines his head, happy to let Hermione do the talking. In no time at all, they're led upstairs to a table in the corner a screen behind one chair to give the illusion of real privacy. He'll take it since anything more would mean a scandal at the moment.  
  
Merlin take reporters.  
  
Hermione unwraps herself from her layers and Harry removes his own coat, settling it on the back of his chair, before holding out his arms for hers. The grey scarf is deposited first, next her gloves, her bag, and finally the coat. It makes him laugh lowly as he puts the items on the hook nearest their table, her bag slung across the back of his chair. No one would take it if they had to approach him, of that he was sure.  
  
Gallantly, at least to Hermione, who is still unused to the training Harry's undertaken, she lets herself be ushered into her chair and scooted forward. It's a small habit of Harry's now, one that has taken the longest time to get used to. The first time he'd done it at the Three Broomsticks she'd been so confused and later mortified over not understanding what was going on.  
  
"Thank you," her cheeks warm, as always.  
  
"Of course, love. Tea? Or Coffee?" He summons the menu with a small twitch of his wand hand.  
  
"Tea please, dash of milk, one sugar."  
  
As if he needed to be told that. Harry spreads the menu between them, knowing what he'll be having. The Shepard's pie was always delicious and kept him well until supper time with a bit of pudding afterward. He could bet Hermione would choose the same, or she might go for lighter fare now that it was midwinter. Hermione hardly needed to watch what she ate by his accounting. She was thin still, this long after the war. Ron had bulked back up quickly, Harry a touch slower, but Hermione - she hadn't.  
  
"What are you going to have?"  
  
"Shepard's pie."  
  
The way her nose wrinkles says it'll be lighter fare for her.  
  
"I was thinking perhaps the stew. Rich but not quite as heavy."  
  
"I assume you are continuing those potions?"  
  
"Of course, I am. Madam Pomfrey makes it her business to make sure I down the prescribed three a day. Speaking of, if you'll go into my bag, I need one."  
  
"Sure thing, Mione."  
  
"Harry James, I have a name and it is not  _Mione_."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When they'd eaten, that quiet companionable silence enveloping them, Harry took the opportunity to test the waters. If Hermione had someone she's interested in, he'd leave it. If not, there was no harm in seeing where he stood with her.  
  
"So, Hermione, now that you know 'the big secret', regale me - whose taken you to Hogsmeade?"  
  
Caramel eyes widen before a snort sounds between the pair. "The only reason I go to Hogsmeade is to see you and replenish my parchment. I've long given up on quills."  
  
"You must be joking," his mouth drops open. No one took her, or asked her to go on a date with them? Were all the lads of Hogwarts blind.  
  
"I'm not," her brows pull together as her head tilts to the right. "What's this about?"  
  
"I - wanted to know if anyone special caught your eye. Now that Ron's procreated and all, I thought you might -"  
  
"Ugh." Her sound of disgust, along with the pinch of her lips reminds Harry of the acting Prime Minister. Their former Head of House is a severe woman, and it seems Hermione has picked up similar expressions. "What use have I for dates, Harry? Most just want the 'Brains of the Golden Trio' and the current sixth years were fifth years during the Battle. Too young for me, far too immature."  
  
"Oh." He blinks, doing his utmost to keep the surprise off his face. Miss Granger's surprised him as she's want to do. Why anything should have changed in just two scant years is beyond him.  
  
Squinting, Hermione starts deciphering the look on Harry's face. Eyes wider than normal, not dissimilar to the look they take on when attempting innocence. Eyebrows are up, not to the hairline but still up. Mouth slightly open, but not gaping. Shocked, but attempting to cover it. Whatever for? Why should the knowledge she's not dating willy-nilly shock him?  
  
"Well, in that case, is there anyone you have your eye on?" He looks away from her, green eyes focusing on the table. Being this transparent with her felt almost painful. With no way to hide if she reacted poorly, it's daunting. He hasn't got a contingency plan in place in the event of Hermione saying yes other than to continue as her friend. He hasn't got a clue if it will break his heart or not. Though, the brunet assumes it will. Hermione has been steadfast at his side for almost a decade, a constant source of love and encouragement. Someone he trusted beyond all others.  
  
"Um," blinking rapidly, the brilliant witch tries to make sense of the situation she's suddenly in. Harry wants to know about her private life, her  _romantic_ life. Harry is asking her this. Harry. Her Harry. "I - Where is this coming from, exactly?"  
  
Harry shrugs in response, lifting his hand to signal the waitress for their check. This place may be private, but it wasn't private enough to get into the why of his questions. That required explicit privacy and he isn't particularly keen to be seen flooing together with Hermione. It would cause more issues than either of them needed presently. "There are a few reasons why I ask. But I don't want to talk about it while we're in the restaurant. Privacy charms only go so far."  
  
Her brows shoot up toward her hairline and Harry chews at his lip; shoving his hand through his hair. This is not how he had hoped this would go. Not at all. The lunch was lovely, spending time with Hermione, was lovely. This conversation? It's very quickly turning into a disaster.  
  
"Please, Hermione, just trust me for a bit?" He turns his eyes on her, summoning forth the half desperate half lost expression that somehow made witches swoon. He wasn't even sure what he looked like, just knew if he concentrated on his frustration and the feel of needing help that it arranged his face in just the right way. Harry is never above using this look either, not with Hermione.  
  
"I've trusted you since the troll," the ebony witch huffs and gathers her things with little fanfare as he receives the bill. A few galleons, not bad in comparison to most places popping up through London. He doesn't quibble about pulling out the two and needed sickles, placing them on the tray bill before placing a galleon in the middle of the table.  
  
In a breath, he has his coat back on, shoulders shrugging to get the leather to settle. His hand reaches for hers, takes it, but the movement that would in the past have stayed like that now continues, once again guiding her hand to the crook of his elbow. Merlin, but he hates the heat of her hand leaving his. It was all so much easier when they were children, even when they'd been on the run!  
  
"I know, this just isn't coming out right at all." The half-muttered words make Hermione smile. Harry has always had a certain issue with getting words to reflect his meaning unless they were full of sass or righteous anger. Acts of kindness, of loyalty and the like, were much easier for him, one of her favorite things about him, really.  
  
They leave silently, smiling at the hostess who bids them a good afternoon. The winter air is crisp and sharp, making Hermione's eyes slide shut as she draws in a deep breath. The chill fills her lungs, scent stuck in her nose for a wonderful moment before she lets out the breath and follows Harry to one of the apparition spots within the alley.  
  
He parts from her purposefully, making a bit of a show of kissing her knuckles before embracing her briefly. Not so fleetingly he can't whisper in her ear, however.  
  
"Harry James Potter lives at Acton Court, the seat of House Potter, in Bristol, Gloucestershire, England." As he draws away from her, Hermione feels the magic of the Fidelis charm embrace her. She'd not been to his home before, mistakenly assuming he had taken a flat in London, or even renovating Grimmauld Place to live in. She blinks, eyes questioning as her brows draw together.  
  
Harry sends her a lopsided smile and wink before he apparates away. Drawing in a breath, Hermione narrows her eyes on the spot Harry had stood as if the look will be sent to him all the way in Glouster-bloody-shire. Her wand is grasped, concealed by her court and she focuses on the location, Acton Court, Bristol. When the location is set in her mind, she turns and gently cracks away to the other side o the country.  
  
Hermione hadn't been thinking of what she would find upon arrival. Acton Court, of course, is known to her, anyone who is anyone knows the history of their most notorious King, father to their last 'proper English-blooded' Queen. It was said to be in ruins, the historical website, and pamphlets detailing that the 1535 built wing was all that was left of the expansive estate house. Barring a few bits and pieces of the still intact foundation and wall work.  
  
What she is greeted with is a splendid view of whitewashed stone. None of the actual stone can be seen, of course, preserved and smooth for the outer façade. It's beautiful, simple. Though she can spy modernity already. The shingles, for example, are not of a native to England stone, black and new, there are gutters, the chimneys have gleaming toppers, there are electric lights along the walkways. The walk to the house is all new brick, the shutters are a deep red to match.  
  
Clearly, Harry has been quite busy over the months she's been toiling in classes. Quite busy indeed. As she makes for the door, she can feel the spark of his wards. Ambient things, they cover the entire property if she's not mistaken, always searching, ever alert for intruders and paparazzi. No one he didn't want here would get within a foot of the gate she'd wager. The wards let her pass, and the gate opens for her, the pretty wrought iron new as well, or perhaps just restored and well cared for.  
  
Now as she walks for the house, her heels clicking softly along the bricked walkway, the front garden if one could call it that, is immense in comparison to what she grew up with. Covered in snow, she can see the protective hay and latticework that protects hedges and annuals. Fir trees, new-planted as they are rather small, line the walls that go on quite a distance.  
  
It seems Harry has plans to keep the public eye well away from his home, and she can't blame him. It's perfect, really. If Harry has been granted the entirety of Acton Court, he had a great swath of land under his direct control. He could do so much!  
  
The bright red door with a golden knocker plated window, and handle swings open before her before she is within arms reach of it. Harry stands there, a smirk on his lips, his shoulders thrown back, left hand in his pocket while the other holds the door open. He exudes confidence, and Hermione doesn't quite know what to do with all of this.  
  
"Your cheeks are pinking up, love, as is your nose. Please come in." His eyes are sparkling, and Hermione moves like he's cast a spell not simply invited her inside.  
  
To Harry, she looks in place here. The navy is stark against the white, giving the snow a chance to reflect blue rather than the white of the house. Her dark hair, her deep skin, she's an angel in the snow of his home. His magic curls around her welcomingly, he can feel it, and as she passes through the door of the ancient seat of the Potter House, it is as if the whole building sighs.  
  
"I wasn't expecting all this. I mean, I knew of Acton Court, most do what with its history with the royal family."  
  
"Ah," he interrupts her ramping dialogue with information he's sure will throw her for quite the loop. "But did you know that Points was only a renter? He rented the property from my family and petitioned them for the wing the non-magical society knew of. The Potters have been the owners of Acton court for centuries, it fell out of our hands during the War with Grindelwald and Hitler, and the Crown returned it to the family when the letters patent were endowed."  
  
"But -"  
  
"I know. Another facet of history lost because magical and non-magical aren't allowed to mix for fear they'll start trying to wipe us out again. Or worse, experiment on us. The Crown's Prime Minister and the Acting Magical Prime Minister are hashing out how best to integrate without flouting the international law. It's out of date and we need better safeguards." Harry rambles on with authority while closing the door and urging the young with out of her coat and other outdoor necessaries. Soon he needed to send word to Dowager Longbottom he would be delayed, he had only a quarter hour left of the lunch recess, but he would not leave this undone.  
  
He refused to lose his chance to have the one witch he wanted in his life, permanently.  
  
They are quiet after Hermione has been relieved of gloves, hat, coat, scarf, and bag. She looks lovely in the navy dress she'd chosen. A simple sheath, modest boat neck, ¾ length sleeves, hem just hitting her calves. Harry is doing his best to sort himself out but can't seem to put the words he needs or rather wants to say into an order that doesn't seem offensive or just altogether too formal.  
  
This would ironically be easier if their parents were around. Harry could have asked Mr. Granger for permission to court Hermione, and then permission from the woman herself, to really alert the family all the way around. Give himself a bit of wiggle room for wording practice as well. Or his father could have asked Hermione's father if he would consent to his daughter courting James' son. Leaving Harry to grovel to Hermione for following such archaic traditions.  
  
Merlin, why was this so difficult?  
  
"Harry," Hermione fidgets, unused to her friend staring at her and being silent. Honestly, this was more of a Dennis Creevey during their sixth-year sort of behavior or perhaps Goyle or Crabbe behavior. "Harry James!"  
  
"Hell, I'm sorry Hermione." He twists his newly minted signet ring around his finger before his hands muss with his hair. A sharp pain flares through his chest as the stress mounts. Letting his eyes slide shut he takes a deep, slow breath. One that apparently tips Hermione off, because he can feel her pleasantly cool hand on either side of his face.  
  
"Oh, love, are you, all right? Here, wrap your arms around me, let's breathe together, yeah?" It's been a fair few months since he's needed this from her, needed this at all. Harry had hoped that the war had seen the end of thee attacks. The pain continues as he breathes with her, the slow ins and outs taking away some of the sharpness. Her hair smells of lemon and lavender, with just a touch of bergamot mixed in. It's soft against his face, against his nose. He's only got a handful of inches on her, putting her head comfortably where she can lean on his shoulder and not place her neck at an awkward angle and his own face pressing against the side of his head. She's just right to hug, fitting into embrace easily. His best friend is perfectly sized for hugs.  
  
Small hands with equally small fingers, but carefully kept nails travel over his back in soothing moves. Gentle pressure chasing away swirling and whirling thoughts, poking holes in the cover of darkness that threatens to drown him. He doesn't know how long they stand together, with her guiding his breathing and soothing him in silence. It doesn't matter.  
  
Something clicks as he pulls back from her embrace. He's never done well with words, and Hermione  _knows_ that. She's known him almost ten years now, followed him through thick and thin, protected him at every turn. His hand slides up to cup her face, thumb smoothing over her high cheekbone, delighting in their contrasting tones before just leaning in.  
  
Hermione's been with him from the go, and she'll be with him even after this if it's a blunder. Their friendship will survive a nuclear war. A kiss, courting, marriage, those are drops in a bucket, milestones that may or may not be theirs. But he'll never know unless he goes for it.  
  
Her lips are soft, if stiff. He can feel her stiffen, hears a muffled sound from her before she relaxes and all he can comprehend is a relief. No yelling, no hitting, and distressed words. Relaxation. Acceptance? The calm before a storm? For now, his mind shuts those thoughts behind a door, concentrating on her.  
  
When they pull apart, Harry presses his forehead against Hermione's. "I want to court you, I want to put my ring on your finger if you'll have it. I want to spark the old ways together with you. A family magic built on our love, the noble house rebuilt on our love - "  
  
"Harry..." Her voice trembles, caramel brown eyes wide.  
  
"No. Hermione, please. Let me get this out. Let me get it  _right_." He takes a breath, pulling away from her just so he can look at her and not go cross-eyed. "In school, from the moment that damned troll toppled over, you've been staunchly in my corner. You've never left my side unless it was forced, you sacrificed  _your family_ for me, to protect them so you could go and face unimaginable evil with me. You tried to cook so you could help pull your weight in the tent. You wore a Horcrux, withstood torture... Hermione, you've been as battered as I have if not more, and you've come out of it as beautiful a soul as you went into it."  
  
Her eyes are watering and she puts her hands on his mouth to stop him. Harry was pants with women, or he had been once upon a time. But he's just said the sweetest thing to her that anyone has ever said. Sweeter than Viktor's compliments, than Ron's compliments and growing as a person. Harry saw her. He'd always seen her. They had fights, but it was never as explosive as her and Ron, it was never as painful, as drawn out.  
  
"Harry, if we don't know one another after seven years as friends, and a year of living rough, I'm afraid we'll never know one another. I'll court you for the sake of propriety, but I'd rather it be a short courtship. Something to appease public sentiment. I'd marry you tomorrow if you wanted me to. As much as I've been by your side, you've been by mine with a few exceptions."  
  
"Well, never again. Us against the rest of them, eh?" His nose presses to hers and she's so tempted to kiss him. She can feel his breath on her lips, they're so close right now.  
  
"You and I against the world, yes. But -" her eyes focus on his vibrant green ones, feeling mischievous. "We should test that kiss again. It could have been a fluke."  
  
His laugh and the way his eyes go dark, from Jade to Emerald makes her breath catch in her throat. Merlin, but he is handsome. Harry takes her by storm, a gentle building storm. A brush of lips that turns molten, with hands pulling her closer by her hips, while hers are on his neck and in his wildly unruly hair. A nip to his lip and they combust together, tongues flirting along one another, mimicking a different intimacy with a tentativeness only  **fresh** couplings can achieve.  
  
She never gave a great deal of thought to how this would go. She knew her place was  _beside_ Harry but not like this. Never like this. Logic dictated he needed a strong partner, someone who would temper him, strengthen him and in return he would do the same. It hardly occurred that she would be the one he saw as that force in his life.  
  
The way he kisses her, however, the clutch of his fingers against her hips, the persistent, delicious press of his mouth to hers. It brushed aside all thoughts of not being anything enough for him. They part without wanting to, chimes going off on the hallway's clock. They were late.  
  
"What do you say? Spark the old ways back to life with me?" His nose nudges at hers.  
  
"I would love to."


End file.
